


Harvest

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: Torchwood Ficlets [12]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode: s01e06 Countrycide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23756461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: Ianto recovers
Series: Torchwood Ficlets [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711324
Kudos: 13





	Harvest

_It's our harvest._ The words echoed in Ianto's mind, the sickeningly innocent tone of the villager's voice rolling around in his head, refusing to let him get any peace.

He'd helped with the clean up as always, ignoring the screams of protest in his arms, chest and back as he he'd helped contain the villagers. There wasn't much more that Torchwood could do – the matter needed to be handled over to the local police. Ianto couldn't say whether or not he was relieved that aliens weren't involved.

Ianto had managed to keep himself busy until Jack decided they were able to leave. They SUV still needed to be tracked down (and thank god he had the spare keys), and their abandoned camp-site taken down. It was enough that he'd almost managed not to notice how much he was shaking, that he was bleeding, that he was dizzy and dazed and the world was spinning until Owen had caught him by the elbow and forced him to sit down and one of the too-sweet so-called energy drinks was pressed into his hand.

When they'd finally reached the hub it was only early afternoon, and Jack sent everyone home. Which left Ianto staring at the plain grey door that served as home, the dormitory style room in a seldom used wing of the hub that Ianto had called home since moving to Cardiff. He wasn't sure he could face his room, with dim lamps and over stacked bookshelves, crammed with what little personal belongings he possessed.

He preferred the open space of the hub, the protection he knew it afforded. From the couch behind Tosh's station he could watch the CCTV monitors, be wary of anyone or anything approaching. Even the muted blue lighting that served as the "night time" lights that Jack had set when everyone else had gone home was more welcoming than his tasteful shaded lamps in his room that spilled pools of yellow.

He settled himself on the couch, dressed in sweat pants and a long-sleeved tee, bruised and battered in body and spirit. He watched the feed on the monitors for a long time, eventually lulled to sleep by the patterns of movement, of people going about their day,

Ianto woke hours later, draped with a blanket, a pillow from somewhere under his cheek. On the floor rested a glass of water, a packet of pills, and a note. _good job today_ he read Jack's familiar scrawl. _now go back to sleep._

Feeling safer than he thought he had any right to, Ianto did just that.


End file.
